


The Northern Princess

by funkytoes



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family Feels, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkytoes/pseuds/funkytoes
Summary: Prince Elboron of Gondor and Princess Yevona of Dale are arranged to be married. A year before they are to be married, Princess Yevona travels to Gondor to prepare for her future as the future wife of Prince Elboron. Can love grow between these two strangers?
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Elboron (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	The Northern Princess

Prince Elboron ascended the grand steps to the front doors to his family’s country home two steps at a time, feeling the urgency of the situation. He barely acknowledged the guards at the door, and merely nodded curtly at the two servants he passed on the way to his father’s study. He entered the small library, and stood before his parents, slightly out of breath.

To his relief, he had found both his father and mother in the study, which would make this visit short and to the point.

“Why?” he asked, a bit sharply

“‘Why’ what?”his father asked humorously, seated at his desk.

“I heard that I’m getting married—which is strange as this is the first that I have heard of it,” Elboron said, unable to keep the biting tone out of his voice.

His mother looked over, looking up from the scroll in her hands. “You don’t seem particularly overjoyed by the news,” she said, though he knew from her own tone that she was hardly surprised by this.

“I don’t even know who I am marrying,” Elboron said. “How can I be particularly overjoyed?”

His mother sighed. “I know this is not the best way to find out—or the best way to go about it,” she said, placing the scroll on her husband’s desk. “But—”

Elboron tilted his head, looking at his mother in scrutiny. “You don’t object to this?” he asked, slightly confused.

Princess Éowyn of Rohan was more unconventional than the typical lady of Gondor and was far different than most of the mothers of his friends. Having grown up in a land where arranged marriages were not as common, even among nobles, as it was here in Gondor, he was sure she would have been on his side in this matter.

She sighed again. “Of course I objected,” she said. “But the matter has been dealt with.”

“Which is strange,” Elboron said, taking a step forward in his haste and gesturing wildly with his hands, “That this is the first that I have even heard of it!”

“I know this must not be the most pleasant news for you,” his father, Prince Faramir, interjected, speaking for only the second time since Elboron entered the room. “Trust me, Son, when I say that I fought against the council not this decision. You are young, not yet in your thirty-second year. I fear that you are not ready for such a responsibility as marriage, especially to a stranger.”

His father paused for a moment, before turning in his seat to look at Elboron with a stern look. “Even Aragorn was reluctant to tie you to a match without your consent, but the opportunity could not be passed up before it disappeared, and you were the obvious, if not only, appropriate choice.”

Elboron blinked rapidly. “What do you mean, ‘opportunity?’” he asked, realizing all of a sudden that if the High Council of Gondor had been involved, whomever the woman he was to marry was, she must be of high importance. “Who _is_ it that I am to marry?”

“Princess Yevona of Dale,” his father said, pointedly.

Elboron’s eyes widened.

So that explained it. Princess Yevona was the eldest daughter of King Bard the Second of Dale, and not yet married. Not _yet_.

He swallowed slightly, realizing now the permanency of the situation as well as why the council was in such a rush to finalize the match. After all, a princess, especially of such a wealthy province as Dale, and in such an opportunistic region, was not an opportunity to let slip by.

Dale and Gondor has many connections and great friendship—but not yet a marriage match of such…magnitude.

“When will the marriage take place,” he asked, a little weakly now, for he now knew it was pointless to try to get out of the match. Not without gravely insulting a powerful king, and possibly his equally, if not _more_ powerful, partner kingdom of Erebor.

“A year and a half from now, at most,” his mother said. “Your father and I only agreed to the match given that condition, but the council was firm that within two years, you and the princess must marry. They are worried if we delay too much…”

Elboron nodded, feeling as if all his anger had left him weak and desolate.

“However, you should know,” his father said, standing up and walking to one of the many bookcases lining the walls of his study, “That your future bride will be joining us in four months, and will live in Gondor until the wedding.”

Elboron’s face paled slightly, and he stared at his father incredulously. “Isn’t that the same as being _married_ in four months?” he demanded.

“I know this seems unfair,” his mother began. “But there is little your father and I can do at the moment. Trust me when I say that I fought on your behalf.” She exchanged glances with her husband. “But it is decided.”

His father nodded grimly. “It is decided, unfortunately.”

Elboron heaved a breath, feeling his chest begin to constrict. Finally, when he was able to speak again, he said, “Has she agreed to the match?”

“If she hasn’t yet, I doubt she’ll have much choice in the matter either,” his mother said, a little darkly. “But she’ll be arriving in four months time, and so I hope that you adjust to the idea of marrying her by then, and will be cordial enough to her during her stay.”

“Of course I will,” Elboron said, a little more forcibly than he liked to speak. “She’s my future wife.” He sighed. “I will retire to my chambers for the day.” He turned around and headed to the doors of the study. His parents said nothing as he left the room.

He climbed the spiraling steps to the family wing once step at a time, and by the time that he reached his bedchambers, he was inexplicably exhausted. How did things come to this? He knew that he would most likely have an arranged married some day, after all, he was of noble birth and unmarried. He sat down on his bed, sighing again, and laid down. He felt like sleeping for a day, but worry and anxiety kept him wide awake.

He had hoped, at least, that he would not have to marry for another few years. He was of marriage age for a man of Gondor, but not so old that it was urgent for him to marry. Not in the least. He was only thirty-one after all.

He was reluctant to give up his freedom, though he knew that he would not have to be loyal to his wife—he could always take lovers if he wanted. It would be highly unfair, though, he knew, for she would be required to be loyal to him for the remainder of her days.

He was not too much of a ladies man, or at least, not as much as his older cousin Alphros of Dol Amroth, or even his other cousin Elfwine of Rohan. But he enjoyed the company of women, and enjoyed even more the fleeting romances and infatuations typical for someone his age. And the thought of giving all that up for a woman he never even met…

He closed his eyes. He would sleep—his tutors could survive a day without him.

* * *

Princess Yevona gazed at her father with a scrupulous expression, as he relaid the news to her.

“Marriage?” she asked, frowning. “To Prince Elboron of Gondor?”

“Yes,” her father replied, dipping the tip of his quill into the inkwell. “He is the son of Prince Faramir—of the province of Ithilien—”

“I know who he is,” she interjected, before flushing slightly at the raised eyebrows her father sent her way. “It is just…I thought that it was Ilitia you were preparing the marriage match with Gondor for.”

“Ilitia is young yet, and you are not,” her father said. “You are nearly two and nine, and much longer it will be difficult to find you a good match.”

Yevona swallowed slightly, “Ilitia _is_ younger,” she said, “And…more beautiful than I—surely she would make a more suitable wife for a—”

“Prince Elboron is not marrying you for your looks,” her father said, interrupting her weak protests. “You are a sensible girl, and Ilitia is not. She may be a pretty thing, but she is not clever or strong willed. She would be destroyed by the Gondorian court. And as the future Steward of Gondor, Prince Elboron will need a wife who can stand by his side on her own two feet.”

Yevona looked down at the silk slippers on her feet. Ilitia was the prettiest of her younger sisters. In fact, they were all rather pretty—it was only Yevona who was plain looking. She was not hideous, but merely uninteresting and surely slightly homely to look at, and had no physical virtues to her credit. But there was some truth to her father’s words—her sisters were all silly girls. She loved them dearly, but none of them would be able to manage more than a grand house—let alone an entire province of Gondor, and aide in the stewardship of a nation.

She, at least, was clever enough not to be taken advantaged of by those in the court of Gondor who might attempt to do so.

“There will still need to be changes,” her father added. “You are clever and strong willed—but the lords and ladies of Gondor will not appreciate a woman who is either of those two things. You will need to mask your gifts.” He looked at her pointedly. “They will expect someone like your sisters. Life will easier for you if they think you are a silly creature that is content with pleasantries.”

“Those are not fair words to my sisters,” she said. “Why not send one of them instead if they are expecting a silly bride?”

“Because you are the only one of my daughters who would actually survive in the Court of Gondor,” he said softly. “Besides, your youngest sister is too young to marry, Hanna is spoken for, and we both know that Ilitia would protest any marriage to a man.”

“So I am the only one to be forced to marry someone I do not know or love?” Yovana demanded quietly. “Am I the only daughter of yours whose opinion you do not care for?”

“That is not what I meant,” he said, firmly. “I send you, because you are the only one of your sisters, nay, perhaps even of your brothers, who is capable of great things. It is a pity you were born a woman—you should have been born a general or king.” He sighed, placing his quill in its holder as he stood up.

“When I say to pretend to be a silly girl like your sisters…It is for your own good,” he said. “It will protect you. Don’t let them know what a weapon you are,” he continued. “Don’t let them find out how capable you are. Or they will fear you—I am sure there is many a lord who wishes for one of his daughters to marry the prince. As much as this match is good for both of our kingdoms…they will resent you.”

She nodded silently. “I know this,” she said. “And this is the kind of role you have been preparing me for my whole life. I have always had to pretend to be less than I am.” Her last words came out somewhat harshly, and her father had the grace to look somewhat regretful. “Because I am a woman,” she added, “You never allowed me to my full potential. And now I must pretend to be…” she stopped herself—feeling that her next words would be unfair to women and girls like her sisters, who never intended to be silly and ridiculous.

But she knew that she was meant to be more than a pretty wife. No, for she was not pretty. But she was meant to be more in this life than only a _doting, dutiful_ wife.

“I accept his match,” she said, finally. It was a pointless gesture—the match was set. She had no say in the matter. But it would ease her father’s mind and guilt.

She could pretend to be a gentle, simple-minded woman. She could pretend to care about frills and dresses and silks. She could pretend to not like to get her hands dirty. She could pretend not to care about battle plans and strategies. She could pretend to be everything she was not.

It was not as if any of that were new expectations for her.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**:D Thanks for reading! This is an idea I've had for a while but never got around to really working on but I have randomly decided to post the first chapter :) Let me know if you’re interested in reading more!**


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